A Day In the Life
by Ms. ST
Summary: Madeline Hawke is not a morning person.


**A/N:** This is dumb. It's okay to tell me it's dumb. I know it's dumb.

I don't own Dragon Age. Bioware does. Don't sue me please, I'm poor.

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A cool breeze suddenly washed over her, the warmth all but taken away along with the crimson sheets Fenris gripped in his hand. Goosepimples prickled her bare legs, and, as though it were a reflex, Hawke curled herself into a ball and groaned, helplessly reaching for the warmth her sheets provided.

"Up," Fenris demanded, a low growl.

"Five more min...u..." Hawke trailed off as her arm went slack and fell to her side.

The elf let go of the sheets, not bothering to pile them on the bed, but instead, letting them drop to the stone floor. Hawke was still tucked into herself, lips slack and snoring lightly, until Fenris gently took hold of her shoulders and sat her up. He imagined this was what waking up a child felt like.

"That was said five minutes ago."

Grumbling and scrunching up her face as though it pained her to open her eyes, Hawke rested her back against the bed frame as soon as Fenris' back was turned. Five more minutes was all she needed, truly, but as soon as she drifted off to sleep again, she was woken by a rough shake and a low, irritated growl, and when she opened her eyes, she was met with a very angry looking elf.

"You have a meeting with the Knight-Commander this morning." Fenris moved away, Madeline keeping an eye on him until his back disappeared behind the wall of the adjoining room.

Hawke sighed and smiled, then closed her eyes and rested her head on the headboard once more. The Knight-Commander could wait until Hawke was fully awake, couldn't she? Who in their right state of mind would schedule a meeting so early in the morning, anyhow? "Whoever thought that the sun rising was a good idea should be jailed," she said as she carefully smoothed down the stray honey blonde strands in a vain attempt to look decent.

"You should take that up with the Maker, then," said Fenris while retrieving Hawke's armor from the other room.

"Mmmm... I will," she hummed. "In five minutes."

"Madeline!" Fenris called from the other room, clearly at the end of his patience.

Damn that elvish hearing.

"Maker's breath." In a huff, Madeline swung her legs over the bed, and planted her bare feet on the frigid stone floor, sending a violent shiver up her spine like a small jolt of electricity. "For the love of Andraste, that's cold."

As Madeline turned to the adjoining room, shaking off the initial shock of cold feet, Fenris reappeared with her sabatons and spurs and gave the wardrobe a very nasty scowl. Hawke had become a natural at reading the broody elf's body language and expression, so padded over to her armoire, opened it up, and slipped on her underclothes. As she tied the strings across her chest and buttoned her pants, Fenris then brought out her dark leather greaves, spiked cuisses, and, draped over his shoulder, her chainmail fauld and coif.

Hawke had just finished slipping the last button on her pants, so helped Fenris lay out her armor neatly on the bed, then stepped towards the bedroom door where she kept her filthy leather boots. She hadn't cleaned them since her duel with the Arishok. Not that there was much reason to since in the last three years, she came across more scraps and ambushes in Lowtown and Hightown from gangs who thought that just because the viscount was dead, they owned the streets and all who walked upon them.

"You insist on wearing too much armor..." the elf scoffed.

"If I died in battle," Hawke said as she shoved her feet into her shoes, "I know an elf who would be very angry."

Fenris, with the fauld spread out between his hands, and Hawke, with now warm toes, met in the middle of the room, where Madeline slipped her legs into into the chainmail and buckled the leather strap around her waist. Fenris then grabbed the sabatons and spurs from the bed.

As he knelt down and began to assemble the metal plates on the tops of Hawke's feet and the spurs at the back of her heels, Fenris, with a deep frown, grumbled, "It slows you down."

Before answering, Hawke reached over to grab her greaves and handed them to Fenris. With her back turned, he fit one over her shin and fastened the leather buckles around her calves.

"It protects me," she finally responded, finding herself idly running the flat of her hand across the cool metal links of her coif. It reminded her of the smooth wet pebbles on the shore of the narrow creek that ran in the middle Lothering.

Fenris had just finished strapping the last buckle of the second greave and was now holding out his hand for a cuisses. Hawke passed it to him, careful not to poke or cut him with the sharp spike that was meant to protect her knee. Waking up early just to dress in heavy armor that would be worn in the hottest or coldest of weather did become ridiculous and mundane after a week, but if it meant she would see another day to protect this city and its citizens, her only complaint would be that it took too long to dress her up. Kirkwall needed her Champion, now more than ever.

"Hawke." The gruff voice of her lover reached her, breaking her out of her own thoughts.

Turning her head over her shoulder, Hawke glanced down and saw the infamous scowl etched right in the middle of Fenris' dark eyebrows and there right at the corners of his mouth. "I didn't fall asleep standing up this time, I assure you."

"Hold the cuisses in place," he ordered as though he had said it for the third time.

Hawke obeyed until she was sure the piece was secured to her thigh. The second piece was passed between then, just as carefully, and they both repeated the steps. When Fenris was done, he stood while Madeline tested his work by bending her knees, running in place, and crouching. Someone would have to cut her legs off to get those plates off.

"I have seen you fight, Hawke," Fenris said as he disappeared to collect more armor. He obviously was not finished with their previous discussion. "The only ones who need protecting are your enemies."

A grunt and the sound of thick metal clanking together came from the other room, but before Hawke made to help the elf, Fenris reappeared with her breastplate. She moved from her spot near one of the back bedpost and slipped an arm beneath the armor, carrying much of the weight so that Fenris wouldn't have to.

"That's very sweet, Fenris," said Hawke with a small smile. "But I don't fight for the pleasure of killing." She prided in her strength and her lovely Bloom, the two-handed ax that was now leaning against the far wall of her bedroom. It was beautiful, with a leather-bound engraved handle, a red steel head with gold embellishments on each cheek, and a blade that could cut through the scales of a Pride Demon. When she had looted it from the Arcane Horror at the ruins of the Sundermount Passage, she was positively giddy and gushed over it during their climb down. But she did not think of it as a weapon to kill, but to protect.

"Why does anyone fight if not to kill?" Fenris disagreed.

"To protect the innocent."

"No one is innocent." His voice had suddenly become low and harsh, and Madeline took that as a sign to let the discussion drop.

As soon as Fenris finished strapping her breastplate to her torso, Hawke pushed the elf's hands away and stepped into the adjoining room where she kept her armor. She insisted on buckling her cowters and pauldron's on by herself, but of course she knew she couldn't. As much as she loved Fenris, his attitude towards people, even non-mages, was something she wished he grew passed. His past was his own, she knew, but that hate he was keeping so close to his chest... Her mother dying by the hands of a mage sent her reeling. More than once she thought every mage should be burned, a quick death, less then what they all deserved for what they did to her mother. But when she visited Bethany in the Circle, when she watched Anders heal her and her friends' wounds, she thought to herself, "The man who killed my mother is dead."" She knew all too well how easy it was to hold onto something like hate.

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips, and when she turned, Fenris was standing in the door way, hands behind his back with a mixed look of irritation and regret.

"I... apologize," he mumbled, obviously not meeting her eyes.

"Words mean nothing until you put them into action, Fenris," said Hawke, softly. "You keep apologizing, but nothing changes."

He stepped forward and brought out his hands from behind his back, palms up to reveal a beautiful lavender shawl with delicate tassels on the fringe and a simple purple embroidery. As much as she tried to conceal it, Hawke's lips twitched until she bit down on them into a thin line.

"Were you waiting until we fought to give me this?" asked Hawke, and though she meant to be stern, she could not help the smile in her voice.

"I would have given it to you today, regardless," he said. When Hawke gave him a skeptical look, he continued by asking, almost bashfully as though he were afraid to hear the answer, "Do you like it?"

When she approached Fenris, Madeline took the shawl in her hands and felt the soft cloth between her fingers. This time, she did not hold back the smile that graced her lips. "It's beautiful." Quickly, she then turned around and held the two ends behind her neck as best as she could. "Tie this around my neck," she said. "It's not often I get to wear dresses, and something this beautiful should not be left to collect dust."

"But to collect the blood of your enemies..." Fenris joked as he knotted the two ends together.

Pinching it here and there, then spreading it out with her palms, Hawke turned back around with a giddy, goofy grin on her face.

"What would I do without you?" she whispered, placing a hand on his cheek and giving him a lingering kiss.

"Never wake up, I suppose," Fenris said against Madeline's lips.

Hawke chuckled against his lips, saying, "I'm still angry with you."

"If this is you angry..."

"Oh, hush."


End file.
